


Who We Are at Night

by OTPshipper98



Series: Harry Potter in English [26]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco has Survivor's Guilt, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Touch-Starved Harry, M/M, Non-explicit self-harm, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Room of Requirement, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sharing a Bed, Sleep Deprived Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 23:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18020897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98
Summary: “Just… hold me. Please. That’s what I need.”





	Who We Are at Night

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Harry Potter y las Cicatrices Invisibles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338215) by [OTPshipper98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98). 



> I vent-wrote this one-shot when I was having a bad day. It's roughly based on my fic mentioned above, in which Harry and Draco find they're just two boys who got lost along the way of the war and find comfort and acceptance in each other's company. It's also based on Donnarafiki's Tumblr prompt: Drarry + "Just hold me, please." <3
> 
> Please check the tags before reading, as the content (though not explicit) could be triggering.

The blood never made the pain disappear. If anything, it made it worse. And Draco knew it. He fucking _knew it_ , and still.

Still, he’d done it again.

And now his whole forearm was on fire and his chest still felt like someone had stored a thousand stones in it.

Harry arrived five minutes later. There wasn’t a night he didn’t check in on Draco through the Marauder’s Map. He liked to say it was because he was worried about Draco, but Draco knew better.

Harry couldn’t sleep, and so he checked the map, again and again, to make sure the enemy was gone. To try and convince himself hell wouldn’t break loose the moment he closed his eyes. That everything was over. That he didn't hold the weight of the world in his unsteady, shuddering grip.

It didn’t exactly help matters that Draco still felt like the enemy.

“Hey.”

It was a murmur — soft. It was so unlike the Harry he’d grown to know. He felt shaken by the kindness of it, although that wasn’t new.

Looking at Harry, it was clear that part of the softness of it had come from the fact Harry was a sleep-deprived mess. He was barefoot, in fluffy blue pyjamas, his hair all over the place and his glasses askew.

“Hey,” Draco replied. He sounded the opposite of calm. His voice trembled as though broken, and it made him feel so weak he just wanted to hurt himself all over again.

Harry sat down next to him. The Room of Requirement had taken to materialising a gigantic, fluffy bed for them whenever they asked it for a place to meet. It was weird, really — but also deeply comforting, so who cared. It wasn’t like anyone ever went close to the room anymore. It was their secret place. The place where they could be together, where they could be alone.

It was the one place where Draco allowed himself to be vulnerable. To feel broken, and lost, and like the fact that he had survived the war was completely absurd. Completely _unfair_.

“I want to help.”

Draco let out a soft huff. “There’s not much you can do. And I deserve to hurt anyway, so what does it matter?”

“It does.” Harry’s voice had that echo to it — the one it always had when he was convinced of something to the point of stubbornness. “It does to me, at least. Draco, you don’t—”

“Don’t,” he uttered. “Just—don’t. Not now.” Harry groaned softly, and Draco sighed. “Just… hold me. Please. That’s what I need.” That wasn’t necessarily the truth, but still. He wasn’t going to take it back. He seemed to have developed a soft spot for the Golden Boy, and he knew exactly how much feeling powerless could affect him. It was better to let him believe he was helping.

“I can do that,” Harry smiled. He enveloped Draco in a gentle, full-body hug that made them fall back on the impossibly fluffy blankets. The world around Draco turned into utter warmth; Harry’s breath on his temple, Harry’s earnest arms holding him close, Harry’s legs wrapping around his waist, his thigh. Their ankles brushing. Their heartbeats drumming against the other. It was all so warm he felt like melting into it and never resurfacing.

He inhaled deeply, allowing himself to let Harry’s scent, Harry’s touch, Harry’s heartbeat, wash away some of the misery that had been welling up in him. The pain. Te fear. The loathing. The small, still open wounds that were making his forearm ache and throb beside him.

A moment passed, and Harry fully relaxed beside him. “Better?” He asked, already a bit sleepy.

“Yeah,” Draco said. And then he realised he meant it. Sort of. He wasn’t okay, but he… he felt less like dying than he had a moment before.

Harry sighed contentedly. “Good,” he murmured. “Sleep.”

Draco brought a hand to Harry’s hair. Harry raised his head to take off his glasses, then rested his cheek just above Draco’s armpit, where Draco could reach his strands more comfortably.

“Yeah,” Draco said, wondering when on earth he had developed such affection for the stupid boy who lived, and why he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Sleep.”


End file.
